Then rose the tawny monarch of the wood To speak his memory, as became a chief; And back he cast his crimson robes, and stood With naked arm outstretched a moment brief; Commanding silence by that attitude, And to his words attention and belief. Often he paused, his eyes on Williams fixt, Whilst rang applause his weighty words betwixt. XVI. “Brother,” he said, “full many a rolling year Has cast its leaves and fruitage on the ground, And many a Keenomp, to his country dear, Has sate in death beneath his grassy mound, Since first the pale Awanux kindled here His council blaze, and so began to found His tribes and villages, and far and near, With thundering arms, to wake the red man’s fear. XVII. “Brother, attend! When first Awanux came, He was a child, not higher than my knee; Hunger and cold consumed and pinched his frame; Houseless on yonder naked shore was he; Waves roared between him and his corn and game, Snows clad the wilds, and winter vexed the sea; His big canoe shrunk from the angry flood, And death was on the barren strand he trod. XVIII. “Brother, attend! I gave the infant food; My lodge was open and my fire was warm; He gathered strength, and felt a richer blood Renew the vigor of his wasted arm; He grew--waxed strong--the trees began to bud; He asked for lands a little town to form; I gave him lands, and taught him how to plant, To fish and hunt,--for he was ignorant. XIX. “Brother, attend! Still did Awanux grow; Still did he ask for land;--I gave him more-- And more--and more, till now his hatchet’s blow Is at Namasket heard, with crash and roar Of falling oaks, and, like the whit’ning snow, His growing numbers spread my borders o’er; Scarce do they leave a scant and narrow place Where we may spread the blanket of our race.” XX. Here paused the chief, as if to ask reply; Of thankless guests he spoke, and seemed to say That the white strangers grasped too eagerly, Nor heeded aught their benefactor’s sway. Ne’er to the Indian did our Sire deny His share of Heaven’s free gifts; and, to allay The ominous mistrust, he answered mild The dusky king of Pokanoket’s wild: XXI. “Brother, I know that all these lands are thine, These rolling rivers, and these waving trees,-- From the Great Spirit came the gift divine; And who would trespass upon boons like these? I would take nothing, if the power were mine, Of all thy lands, lest it should Him displease; But for just meed shouldst thou some part resign, Would the Great Spirit blame the deed benign?” XXII.